


The Dishes

by afinecollector (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute, Domestic, Fluff, Greg says Fuck a lot, Implied sexual acts, Kinky, Kitchen Sex, M/M, PWP, Sexy, Teasing, domestic!Mystrade, it's always a row over the dishes, mystrade, wine drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 20:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7816756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/afinecollector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Which constitutes as me, yet again, being the one to do the f--king dishes.” Greg laughed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dishes

**Author's Note:**

> I bloody love Mystrade. Plot, what plot?! I'm just having fun! Sorry, not sorry.

“You can fuck off.” Greg launched the dishtowel across the kitchen and was impressed with the distance that the slightly damp cloth managed to travel, skating over the marble-top island and landing right into Mycroft’s hands where he stood at the open archway entrance. “I am not doing the fucking dishes for the third night running.” 

“I didn’t suggest you should, I simply asked you to load the dishwasher.” Mycroft corrected him, folding the dishtowel in his hands. 

“Which constitutes as me, yet again, being the one to do the fucking dishes.” Greg laughed. 

“Why does every sentence you produce have to include the word fuck?” Mycroft asked, adding an exaggerated wince to show his distaste as he lay the dishtowel onto the island counter and reached to the hanging wine glass display above it. He set two glasses down onto the counter and retrieved the bottle of Merlot from beside the fruit bowl. He poured a glass for himself and Greg before pushing the cork back into the bottle. Lifting Greg’s glass, he held it out to him. “We should get a maid.” 

Greg laughed loudly, accepting the proffered drink. “We don’t need a fucking maid! This is a small townhouse, Mycroft. And, despite your upbringing, you’re not royalty.” 

“We could be.” Mycroft supposed sarcastically, lifting his glass to his lips. 

Greg shook his head, swallowing down the mouthful of wine he’d supped, and placed his glass down. “No, we couldn’t.” He said, licking his lips. “But you could load the dishes into the dishwasher and this could be over in five minutes. Then we _could_ sit on the sofa and watch that film John lent us.” 

Mycroft made a face of pure distaste. “Must we?” 

“It’s a classic.” Greg defended. “Pulp Fiction is the staple of cult films and, quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well, if you load the dishwasher, perhaps we could sit and watch it.” 

Greg pointed an accusing right index finger at him and shook his head. “No fucking chance. I made dinner, so it should be your job to clean up.” 

Mycroft shook his head firmly, an oddly playful glint in his eyes. “Not going to happen, and you know it, so you might as well just do it.” 

“Starts with F, and ends with ‘off’,” Greg grinned at him and picked up his glass again. He couldn’t help breaking into a full laugh as Mycroft met him with a pointed expression, belied by that sexy glimmer of naughtiness that would not dim in his blue eyes. “Of course, there is another solution.” 

“Oh?” Mycroft raised his eyebrows and took another sip from his wine glass. 

“Yep.” Greg licked his lips and gestured to the sink with his glass. “We could soak them in the sink overnight - get the lasagne off them properly, make sure that they’re appropriately rinsed for the dishwasher before it’s loaded.” 

Mycroft nodded his agreement as he sipped from his glass again. “Capital idea - you can load it before you leave for work first thing.” 

“Or you could load it before _you_ leave to annoy your brother.” Greg pointed his glass at Mycroft. He laughed silently, his shoulders jumping, as Mycroft narrowed his eyes and attempted to fix him with a fierce glare that failed miserably. 

“Counterproposal,” Mycroft said suddenly, setting his glass down on the island counter. 

Greg smirked. “Proceed.”

Mycroft moved slowly around the counter and stood before Greg. He took the glass from Greg’s hands and turned, placing it beside his own, before he turned back to face Greg again. “You load the dishwasher tonight - but I compensate you for your work preemptively.” 

Greg’s eyes softened at the promise of something playful. “Preemptively?” 

Mycroft nodded. “You give me your word that the work will be completed, and I will gladly pay you in kind now.” 

Greg swallowed, immediately aroused by the tone of Mycroft’s voice. He cleared his throat before he attempted to speak. “Pay me how?” 

“Like this.” Mycroft met his eyes before he sank down into a crouch, then rested his weight on his knees, before moving his hands to the belt on Greg’s trousers. Greg immediately braced his hands against the thin strips of free counter space behind him, his mouth dropping open before any real attempts were made on his underwear beneath his now opened trousers. “So…” Mycroft looked up, disgracefully brazen. “I have your word?” 

Greg frowned down at him, struggling to steady his breaths. “Fuck yes.”


End file.
